Latest news with #Chagall
Korea Herald
18-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Korea Herald
Seoul's weekend visual feast
K-pop star's homewears, Chagall's dreams and vintage treasures From a K-pop idol's whimsical showroom to a rare Chagall retrospective and Korea's biggest secondhand furniture market, here's where to indulge your visual senses. Inside the whimsical world of K-pop's creative visionary What happens when K-pop's most eccentric artist opens a homeware shop? Welcome to Say Touche, the brainchild of AKMU's Lee Chan-hyuk. The singer-songwriter who once shaved his head mid-performance on live TV has channeled his offbeat creative vision into a different medium. Last year, he teamed up with photographer Lim Jae-lin to launch this showroom tucked away in Itaewon's quiet streets, its green signage beckoning the curious. Step inside and you're transported into what feels like an artist's actual home — if that artist possessed both refined taste and delightful whimsy. Each room displays living objects that toe the line between functional and fantastical. A retro TV doubles as an incense holder. Mathematical equations replace numbers on wall clocks. Whiskey bottles morph into table lamps. Even mirrors get the signature twist, framed to resemble FaceTime screens mid-call. The showstopper? Those lush Persian-style rugs with delightfully twisted takes. One features psychedelic patterns that contort into heart-like shapes. Another bears muddy footprints across its pristine surface. It's classic elegance hijacked by playful irreverence — true to the spirit of its creators. For those smitten by the quirky aesthetic, items are available for purchase both in-store and online, with worldwide shipping offered. Open noon to 7 p.m., closed on Mondays. Say Touche 53, Noksapyeong-daero 32-gil, Yongsan-gu, Seoul Marc Chagall's dreamlike imagery in Seoul The exhibition 'Marc Chagall: Beyond Time' at Hangaram Art Museum, located at the Seoul Arts Center in southern Seoul, brings together 170 works by Marc Chagall through Sept. 21. Chagall's major solo exhibition has returned to Seoul after seven years with works loaned from public and private collections around the world, according to the museum. His pieces combine features of surrealism, cubism and expressionism, earning the Russian-born French artist the nickname 'the magician of color.' The works on view through seven thematic sections include an immersive space that reimagines Chagall's architectural projects through media art such as the ceiling painting of the Palais Garnier in Paris and the twelve stained glass windows of the Hadassah Medical Center in Israel. The artist's iconic paintings 'Le Coq Violet' and 'La mariee au-dessus de Paris' are part of the exhibition. Hangaram Art Museum 2406 Nambusunhwan-ro, Seocho District, Seoul Apartmentfull Market, a vintage treasure trove For design lovers and furniture hunters alike, a trip to Apartmentfull Market is not just a shopping outing. It's a weekend experience worth the drive. Located in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province, this sprawling 1,000-pyeong (approximately 3,250-square-meter) space operates out of a massive two-story warehouse. But it's far more than a traditional furniture store. Apartmentfull Market functions as a dynamic hub where vintage and pre-owned furniture are not only displayed and sold, but also repaired and restored in real time. The showroom holds over 1,500 pieces, ranging from high-end, rare vintage finds to more accessible and practical secondhand items. What sets this place apart is its curatorial approach. Furniture isn't grouped by type, but styled harmoniously to evoke a lived-in, design-forward atmosphere. Each item includes simple tags noting price and details, so visitors can browse comfortably without needing to ask for assistance. A key feature of Apartmentfull Market is its open restoration studio, where visitors can witness furniture being cleaned, repaired and photographed. The venue also offers consignment services for those looking to pass on beloved items. Because new pieces arrive daily, it's wise to check the online inventory beforehand. Reservations are required and can be made via Naver. moonkihoon@ yunapark@ yoohong@
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Travel + Leisure
15-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Travel + Leisure
This City is the Underrated Star of the French Riviera, With Chic Hotels, Stylish Boutiques, and a Sense of Timeless Cool
If I could offer one piece of advice to someone planning a trip to Nice, it would be this: Don't tell anyone you're going to Nice. The gateway to the French Riviera, the city has long been dismissed as a way station to smaller resort towns, the erstwhile stomping grounds of Matisse, Chagall, Baldwin, and Fitzgerald. Most of the time, people are actually thinking of places like Monaco and Menton, or influencer traps like St.-Paul-de-Vence and Antibes. Or Italy, which is not in France. A dated but amusing British expression regarding the Nice airport is 'Gentlemen turn right.' To the right await the cypress-covered hills of Villefranche-sur-Mer and the coves of Cap Ferrat, the most expensive square footage in the country. But to the left is yacht-dotted St.-Tropez, so to an outsider, this is a baffling piece of local sociology. Either way the message is clear: one drives away from Nice; one does not loiter in the gateway. These people are, in fact, the ones missing the boat. Le Negresco hotel's dome, seen from the Promenade des Anglais. For my flight from New York, I downloaded Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, the 1988 comedy starring Steve Martin and Michael Caine that takes place in the fictional Nice enclave of Beaumont-sur-Mer. The film was a reminder of the city's outdated clichés: a place where a con man could live lavishly by relieving shoulder-padded women of their fortunes. A plausible premise, inspired by history. During the 19th century, Nice was a winter destination for the European aristocracy. When the French instituted paid annual leave in 1936, it became a popular summer destination and, by the end of the 20th century, a port for people allergic to living modestly (or, in the immortal words of Somerset Maugham: 'A sunny place for shady people'). By the start of this century, however, Nice had fallen out of fashion, both with discerning tourists seeking exclusivity and with younger Europeans, who associated the place with their parents. Now the tide is turning once more. New hotels, restaurants, shops, and bars staffed by passionate locals and patronized by an in-the-know clientele have begun to push Nice back into the spotlight. The crown jewel of this renewed glamour is Hôtel du Couvent, an 88-room, monastic-chic hotel housed in a 17th-century former convent. Situated on Castle Hill in the city's old town, the property had been neglected since the 1980s. About 10 years ago, Valéry Grégo, a financier turned hotelier, visited the site at the behest of Nice's mayor. Grégo was so inspired by the historic structure that he would eventually sell his collection of boutique hotels around France and spend the next decade meticulously restoring the convent and its 2½-acre grounds. The dining room at Maison Joia. After entering the hotel grounds (with four buildings, it's more of a campus), I walked through a stone passageway into a courtyard surrounded by tiered gardens and was presented with a freshly baked madeleine at reception. Then I was escorted past the on-site bakery, library, and apothecary (yes, apothecary) by one of the hotel staffers, who explained that her uniform—head-to-toe oxblood cotton—was a tribute to the Visitandine nuns who once lived on the property. My tower suite featured shuttered windows on all sides that cried out to be flung open. I obliged, leaning the upper half of my body out the window, scanning the sun-faded rooftops and, in the distance, an ultramarine strip of ocean. This, I thought, is a view with a room. From left: A veranda at Hôtel du Couvent; a housekeeper at the Hôtel du Couvent. Hôtel du Couvent's austere design is another nod to the function of the original building, with unpretentious furnishings and a generous use of taupe. Every fixture and texture—be it the ecru sofa or the hefty square dining table—is precisely tailored to the space, and special touches like fresh flowers, silver bar accessories, and vintage books provide decorative flair. Exploring my airy suite, I found I could hold New Nice and Old Nice in the palm of my hand: little balms and lotions from au courant perfumer Azzi Glasser and pistachio marzipan from the 200-year-old confectionery Maison Auer. The courtyard at the Hôtel du Couvent. Nice itself dates back to 350 B.C., and many establishments mix the past with the present. But I don't know that I've felt the imprint of the old and the new in a city as clearly as I did during my stay at Hôtel du Couvent. And to make it extra apparent that I'd arrived at Nice's hotel of the moment: I had taken a surreptitious picture of a fashionable couple in business class who deplaned ahead of me (her with a softened Goyard tote, him with some manner of satchel I was sure I could sell for rent money), only to see them again, sharing a bottle of rosé in the courtyard as I left to explore the old town. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of Nice's new, refined energy is where that energy is concentrated: in the touristy heart of Old Nice, amid the souvenir shops, alongside street performers playing 'Every Breath You Take' on the electric guitar. There are cool new restaurants like Lavomatique, an eight-table bistro with bar seating where thirtysomething patrons spill out into the street late at night, gossiping and laughing after consuming vegetarian small plates. Or Frisson, an ice cream parlor/coffee shop/concept store started by former Colette employees that served a 'detox' sorbet (kiwi, apple, and spinach). Or Marinette, a bright boulangerie that I visited three gluttonous mornings in a row for its cinnamon rolls. I paired them with coffee from Cafés Indien, which roasts its own organic blends. From left: A sitting area at Hôtel du Couvent; breakfast at the hotel. There are also carefully edited gift shops like Trésors Publics, which has become a New Nice institution. 'We believe in the renewal of the old town,' said Nicolas Barbero, the shop's cofounder, who grew up in Cannes, about a half-hour to the west. Each winter, Barbero and his business partner, Antoine Bourassin, travel around the country selecting French products (candles, sandals, tooth-fairy boxes) that give their store a feeling of assemblage as much as curation. Many of the manufacturers of those items have been in business for centuries. From the outside, Trésors Publics looks like a set piece from a Wes Anderson film. From the inside, it traffics in what Barbero calls 'the real local,' with a story behind every French-made item. Barbero has also noticed what he calls 'the return of good tourism'—visitors who appreciate the authenticity of Nice beyond the sunny beaches. He credits not only the city's vibrancy post-pandemic (when many Parisians moved south to the city) but also a fatigue with über-trendy destinations. 'You see people going to Ibiza, Mykonos, and Croatia and that's fine,' he said. 'But maybe they got bored paying 200 euros to see a sunset,' he added, referring to the pricey beach clubs of certain Mediterranean isles. Nice's old town. That evening, I decided to watch the sunset, free of charge, while wandering down the seaside Promenade des Anglais, with the iconic pink dome of Le Negresco hotel in the distance. I grabbed an outdoor seat at Babel Babel, a Mediterranean café and wine bar that serves snacks like hummus and chickpea fries. Behind me, I overheard a pair of girlfriends in their 20s, talking over music and the rattling sound of skateboard wheels, discussing a speakeasy in a church. After some debate, I decided to deploy my terrible French: Pardon? Church? Bar? Quoi? Yes, I had heard correctly. Even the churches of Nice are enticing a younger crowd and have a robust Instagram presence. Upon entering the stone nave of St.-Jacques-le-Majeur, I observed the usual House-of-God fare: cracked Baroque frescoes, a statue of a saint, a few earnest late-night souls creaking in pews. I was about to leave, thinking I'd gotten the wrong place, when I saw a pod of twentysomethings emerge from behind a velvet curtain next to the altar. One of them made eye contact with me, grinned, and winked. ' Oui, ' he said, ' c'est là .' Through another passageway I finally arrived at Le Bethél, a bar inside the church courtyard. There were string lights overhead, a chess game in the corner illuminated by candelabra, and older friends drinking wine. A Parisian rave scene this was not, but there was something undeniably charming about this wholesome bar (no hard liquor) drawing a multigenerational crowd. From left: Hôtel Amour Nice; Paloma Beach, east of Nice in St.-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. The truth is that, if one goes to Nice in search of over-the-top glamour, or the cultural panache of Paris, one will leave empty-handed. It's a city that is still getting its sea legs as an upscale tourist destination—or, rather, getting its sea legs back. But Nice is not interested in imitation. It's interested in embracing what makes it distinctive. It is in this spirit that new hotels like Mama Shelter Nice, Hôtel Amour Nice (from the beloved Parisian chain), and Hôtel Amour Plage (same brand, closer to the shore) have opened. Meanwhile, young chefs are reviving regional dishes to delicious effect. The elegant and meticulous Maison Joia is a prime example. The restaurant combines flavors from across France, including chef Julien Pilati's native Champagne and the Brittany of his wife, Laetitia. The standout of the cheese plate was a creamy wedge from Corsica. Bread from the couple's favorite Portuguese bakery is served to 'really open up the appetite,' as Julien explained. In Nice, most haute cuisine dishes are some manner of regional fusion (think olive oil instead of butter) but at Maison Joia, the experience is seamless. Nota bene: dining in this bright box of a space, with its single-flower centerpieces, feels a bit like being on the set of a play about a restaurant. But reader, I did not suffer. Perhaps, with time, Maison Joia will join international favorite Les Agitateurs, also in Nice, which was awarded a Michelin star in 2021. From left: The rooftop restaurant at the Anantara Plaza Nice Hotel, in France; the Promenade des Anglais. Late the next morning (turns out alcohol has the same effect on the body, even if you consume it inside a church), I took a swim in Hôtel du Couvent's lap pool, a spectacular oasis atop the gardens. I then consumed the best niçoise salad of my life ( Was it the scallions? I thought afterward, zooming in on the photograph I'd taken) while sitting in the shade of an olive tree. Then I said goodbye and packed my bags for a very different view of the city. From left: Grilled chicken with red kuri squash and amba sauce at Lavomatique; the restaurant's exterior. The Anantara Plaza Nice Hotel, which occupies a Belle Époque building that dates back to 1848, feels a world away from a former convent. The 151-room hotel and spa was renovated in 2022 and has a clublike rooftop restaurant from which I could see the planes land at Nice airport. 'You can almost scratch their bellies,' joked Gaudéric Harang, the general manager. 'Even the shops are being renovated,' he added, gesturing down at the row of luxury boutiques that included Hermès, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton. 'They reflect the elevation of luxury and what the city has to offer.' While this is an accurate metric of Nice's commercial popularity, it was wasted on someone who, until very recently, was zooming in on photos of scallions on her phone. I was more curious about his favorite local spots, since he is a local himself. From left: Fanny Vedreine and Louis Girodet, owners of the Fanfan & Loulou café; socks for sale at Trésors Publics. 'Honestly, the amount of small, very good restaurants in the old town is insane,' Harang said, lighting up, 'I love the institutions, too, like La Petite Maison. Nicole Rubi, the owner, is in her 80s. But Nice is still a hub. To be here is to use the city like that. You have to explore.' A fine point if there ever was one. As delightful as it is to plow through what's new in any city, it can start to feel like consuming the foam from a cappuccino and tossing the coffee. Yes, it was time to pluck from those well-meaning recommendations from friends who had been to the surrounding areas. Spend a day in St.-Paul-de-Vence. Go to the Matisse Chapel. Sit on the same barstools that Picasso used to sit on at La Colomne d'Or. Find Chagall's grave, then see so much mid-century art at the Fondation Maeght that you can't remember a time when you were not looking at mid-century art. From left: Giacometti sculptures outside Fondation Maeght; viewing a Chagall at the Fondation Maeght. This is to say nothing of the merits of a day spent on the area's better beaches. I am partial to the understated Plage Paloma, on Cap Ferrat, to which blue-and-white VW buses transport beachgoers from the marina. Or Plage Mala, farther to the east on Cap d'Ail, where I watched an elderly man wade into the water, smoking slim cigarettes, while a woman in a glittery bikini twisted a beach umbrella between the rocks like she was boring a hole into the earth. Perhaps the only notable shift in Nice's infamous beach culture is a reduction in toplessness, thanks in part to the prevailing presence of camera phones. But Nice proper feels like an exciting and current place to come home to after hitting the classics. On my last night, my stomach stuffed with miniature lobster rolls from the beachside restaurant L'Eden Plage Mala, skin soaked with sun—take that, anti-aging facial—I sat down for a glass of natural wine at Fanfan & Loulou. The two-year-old café and wine bar is run by a couple from Paris, Fanny Vedreine and Louis Girodet. It's beloved for not only its selection but also its origin as a wine delivery service during the pandemic. A lone bicycle was the duo's mobile wine cellar, as well as a way of getting to know their new home. From left: A sea view from the Anantara Plaza Nice Hotel; the hotel's lobby. 'We arrived three months before COVID,' Vedreine said, pouring me a glass of German Riesling called Space Dream. 'We thought, 'Okay, we have no friends and no connections. But we found such a community here.' ' In addition to running the wine bar, Vedreine is a new mother and a writer with a focus on feminism and art. I wondered if she ever missed the energy of Paris. 'I worked in nightclubs and bars and journalism in Paris,' she said. 'I have good memories. But I want to do something for myself, to live life for myself.' From left: Anantara Plaza Nice Hotel; a guest room at the hotel. As she said this, we looked over our shoulders to see three stylish Americans approaching. One of them was tearing his face away from his phone, looking embarrassed to be lost and sheepish to have missed what he and his friends were looking for: the fanfan & loulou sign painted in massive letters over the doorway. Vedreine smiled at me and excused herself to greet them. 'This is the place,' she assured them. Oui, c'est là . From left: Place Charles Félix, in Nice's old town; a cantaloupe dessert at Maison Joia. A version of this story first appeared in the August 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline "Nice Dreams ."
Yahoo
02-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Asian painters were ‘othered' in Paris a century ago. Now, the art world is taking note
Before the ravages of World War II, Paris was the center of the art world. The city's salons, schools and cafes attracted painters from around the globe, with Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Piet Mondrian and Salvador Dalí among the many émigrés gravitating to France's capital during the 1920s and '30s. Artists arriving from Asia, however, faced a very different set of expectations than their European counterparts. Paris may have been a melting pot of foreign cultures (by the standards of the day, at least), but it was also the heart of a colonial empire with a fascination for all things exotic. 'It seems that oil is a medium that is too heavy for their hands,' French art critic Henri Lormian wrote dismissively of the Vietnamese painters on show at a modern art exhibition in Paris in 1933. Instead, they were 'habituated to light strokes of the brush,' he argued, adding: 'It is the memories of the arts of the Far East which seduce, much more than a laboriously acquired Western technique.' In other words, their art was not 'Asian' enough, nor their attempts to embrace European art good enough, for his liking. Amid marginalization and disinterest, a generation of little-known artists from Japan, China, French Indochina and elsewhere in Asia nonetheless made their mark on Paris in the interwar period. Many were compelled to balance the influence of their cosmopolitan surroundings with the exoticized tastes of potential customers. Now, a century later, some of the era's pioneers — aided by Asian collectors' growing purchasing power — are belatedly earning the kind of recognition bestowed on their Western contemporaries. Take Le Pho, a Vietnamese artist whom the critic Lormian had once disparaged over a nude painting he deemed 'too occidental' — too Western. His paintings now fetch sums exceeding the million-dollar threshold, making him one of Southeast Asia's most bankable names. His 'La famille dans le jardin,' a leisurely scene evoking French Impressionism but delicately painted on silk, sold for 18.6 million Hong Kong dollars ($2.3 million) in 2023, an auction record for his work. Then there's Sanyu, a painter whose signature nudes — their flat perspective and flowing calligraphic lines informed as much by his Chinese art education as French modernism — now attract astronomical sums. He achieved little commercial success after moving to Paris from his native Sichuan in 1921 and died in poverty four decades later. Today, however, he is hailed as the 'Chinese Matisse,' with the 2020 sale of a rare group portrait, 'Quatre Nus,' for 258 million Hong Kong dollars ($33 million) confirming his status as one of contemporary art's most coveted names. The experience of Asian artists in Europe is also attracting renewed academic interest thanks, in part, to a new exhibition at Singapore's National Gallery. Almost 10 years in the making, 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' brings together more than 200 works from the period, many on loan from French institutions and private Asian collections. Le Pho and Sanyu feature prominently, as do Japanese artist Tsuguharu Foujita and two of Singapore's best-known painters, Liu Kang and Georgette Chen. The show spotlights how they grappled with their identities through searching self-portraits, landscapes depicting their adopted homeland and street scenes showing Paris through outsiders' eyes. References to major Western art movements like Cubism and Surrealism are meanwhile limited, eschewing the conventional lens through which the era is usually viewed. 'We thought, 'Well, if our story is about Asian artists in Paris, we should map their concerns, not try to map the concerns of Eurocentric art history onto them,'' the exhibition's lead curator Phoebe Scott told CNN at the preview, adding: 'Otherwise, we're just reiterating the significance of Paris without giving something new from our region.' The artists' dual identities are often expressed through the combination of Eastern and Western techniques. Foujita's 'Self-Portrait with Cat,' which depicts the artist surrounded by paint brushes and supplies in his studio, nods both to European and Japanese traditions, its fine lines informed by 'sumi-e' ink paintings. Elsewhere, works present various Asian sensibilities, from compositions evoking ancestral portraits to the use of unusually thin canvases reminiscent of paper or silk. Other paintings demonstrate the artists overlooked mastery of styles like Impressionism. A selection of Chen's rural landscapes, produced on a trip to Provence, ooze with the warmth of Paul Cézanne; Japanese painter Itakura Kanae's striking portrait of his wife, 'Woman in Red Dress,' reflects the classical tendencies of 'rappel à l'ordre' (or 'Return to Order'), a French movement that responded to the upheavals of World War I by rejecting the avant-garde. As well as absorbing influences, Asian artists in turn shaped European art, said Scott. The Paris scene had a 'hybridizing aesthetic,' she added, citing the influence of African art on Picasso's oeuvre as an example. And the presence of Asian painters added to the cultural mix, tapping into the longstanding interest in orientalist aesthetics evident in the 'Japonisme' of the late 19th century, when a fervor for Japanese art, furniture and artifacts swept Europe. 'It's difficult to say that any individual modern Asian artist who came (to Paris) influenced French art,' Scott said. 'But was there an Asian impact, in general, on French art? Absolutely.' For France's more established Asian artists, life often revolved around the multicultural Montparnasse district, home of the so-called School of Paris. They shopped for supplies in the neighborhood's art stores and networked in its bohemian cafes. It was here that Sanyu refined his observational skills by attending open life drawing sessions at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière (which, to this day, welcomes the public to its walk-in life drawing classes for a modest fee). Foujita, meanwhile, was a prominent figure in the Montparnasse scene and a friend of the celebrated Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani, among others. The community there comprised 'people of over 50 nationalities, including those from countries so obscure their names are barely known,' Foujita wrote in 1936. 'It is no wonder this environment fosters unconventional ideas and creativity.' There was a commercial imperative, too: Showing at the district's commercial galleries and salons could help artists sell work or meet potential buyers. A local market for their art existed, and some were 'very financially successful' at the time, Scott said, adding: 'But Paris was a crowded market for attention. Even if you got a commercial show, it didn't necessarily mean that you could make money.' Forging a social circle like Foujita's was a 'key factor' determining their success, said Scott. 'Some (Asian) artists had a very good network of connections in Paris that could support them — people they knew, or art critics who would champion their work.' Yet, solo exhibitions and patronage were out of reach for the vast majority of migrant artists. In recognition of this, a section of the Singapore exhibition is dedicated to the artisans who worked in France's decorative arts workshops, playing an important — but largely anonymous — role in the Art Deco movement. An estimated one-quarter of Indochinese workers living in Paris were lacquerers, and a selection of their jewelry and objects d'art are displayed as testament to this uncredited role. The exhibition ends — like some of the international artists' time in France — with World War II. Those who returned home (or were drafted by their countries) often faced difficulties returning. Among them was Foujita, whose place in art history is complicated by his role in Japan's war effort: He dedicated his wartime practice to glorifying the efforts and bravery of the Imperial Army, severely hampering his reputation upon his return to France in 1950. The reputation of Paris changed, too. Although promising Asian creatives continued to arrive in the post-war period (among them were Wu Guanzhong and the abstract painter Zao Wou-ki, now two of the art market's biggest-selling names), the city was no longer the epicenter of the art world. New York was increasingly the destination of choice for budding young migrants, but the industry was also, the exhibition argues, becoming more fragmented, a precursor to today. 'New sites and hubs gained in significance with the energy of decolonization, asserting their independence and cultural identity,' the exhibition notes read. 'The post-war period marked the beginnings of a less hierarchical global art world.' 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' is showing at National Gallery Singapore until Aug. 17, 2025.
CNN
02-06-2025
- Politics
- CNN
Asian painters were ‘othered' in Paris a century ago. Now, the art world is taking note
Before the ravages of World War II, Paris was the center of the art world. The city's salons, schools and cafes attracted painters from around the globe, with Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Piet Mondrian and Salvador Dalí among the many émigrés gravitating to France's capital during the 1920s and '30s. Artists arriving from Asia, however, faced a very different set of expectations than their European counterparts. Paris may have been a melting pot of foreign cultures (by the standards of the day, at least), but it was also the heart of a colonial empire with a fascination for all things exotic. 'It seems that oil is a medium that is too heavy for their hands,' French art critic Henri Lormian wrote dismissively of the Vietnamese painters on show at a modern art exhibition in Paris in 1933. Instead, they were 'habituated to light strokes of the brush,' he argued, adding: 'It is the memories of the arts of the Far East which seduce, much more than a laboriously acquired Western technique.' In other words, their art was not 'Asian' enough, nor their attempts to embrace European art good enough, for his liking. Amid marginalization and disinterest, a generation of little-known artists from Japan, China, French Indochina and elsewhere in Asia nonetheless made their mark on Paris in the interwar period. Many were compelled to balance the influence of their cosmopolitan surroundings with the exoticized tastes of potential customers. Now, a century later, some of the era's pioneers — aided by Asian collectors' growing purchasing power — are belatedly earning the kind of recognition bestowed on their Western contemporaries. Take Le Pho, a Vietnamese artist whom the critic Lormian had once disparaged over a nude painting he deemed 'too occidental' — too Western. His paintings now fetch sums exceeding the million-dollar threshold, making him one of Southeast Asia's most bankable names. His 'La famille dans le jardin,' a leisurely scene evoking French Impressionism but delicately painted on silk, sold for 18.6 million Hong Kong dollars ($2.3 million) in 2023, an auction record for his work. Then there's Sanyu, a painter whose signature nudes — their flat perspective and flowing calligraphic lines informed as much by his Chinese art education as French modernism — now attract astronomical sums. He achieved little commercial success after moving to Paris from his native Sichuan in 1921 and died in poverty four decades later. Today, however, he is hailed as the 'Chinese Matisse,' with the 2020 sale of a rare group portrait, 'Quatre Nus,' for 258 million Hong Kong dollars ($33 million) confirming his status as one of contemporary art's most coveted names. The experience of Asian artists in Europe is also attracting renewed academic interest thanks, in part, to a new exhibition at Singapore's National Gallery. Almost 10 years in the making, 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' brings together more than 200 works from the period, many on loan from French institutions and private Asian collections. Le Pho and Sanyu feature prominently, as do Japanese artist Tsuguharu Foujita and two of Singapore's best-known painters, Liu Kang and Georgette Chen. The show spotlights how they grappled with their identities through searching self-portraits, landscapes depicting their adopted homeland and street scenes showing Paris through outsiders' eyes. References to major Western art movements like Cubism and Surrealism are meanwhile limited, eschewing the conventional lens through which the era is usually viewed. 'We thought, 'Well, if our story is about Asian artists in Paris, we should map their concerns, not try to map the concerns of Eurocentric art history onto them,'' the exhibition's lead curator Phoebe Scott told CNN at the preview, adding: 'Otherwise, we're just reiterating the significance of Paris without giving something new from our region.' The artists' dual identities are often expressed through the combination of Eastern and Western techniques. Foujita's 'Self-Portrait with Cat,' which depicts the artist surrounded by paint brushes and supplies in his studio, nods both to European and Japanese traditions, its fine lines informed by 'sumi-e' ink paintings. Elsewhere, works present various Asian sensibilities, from compositions evoking ancestral portraits to the use of unusually thin canvases reminiscent of paper or silk. Other paintings demonstrate the artists overlooked mastery of styles like Impressionism. A selection of Chen's rural landscapes, produced on a trip to Provence, ooze with the warmth of Paul Cézanne; Japanese painter Itakura Kanae's striking portrait of his wife, 'Woman in Red Dress,' reflects the classical tendencies of 'rappel à l'ordre' (or 'Return to Order'), a French movement that responded to the upheavals of World War I by rejecting the avant-garde. As well as absorbing influences, Asian artists in turn shaped European art, said Scott. The Paris scene had a 'hybridizing aesthetic,' she added, citing the influence of African art on Picasso's oeuvre as an example. And the presence of Asian painters added to the cultural mix, tapping into the longstanding interest in orientalist aesthetics evident in the 'Japonisme' of the late 19th century, when a fervor for Japanese art, furniture and artifacts swept Europe. 'It's difficult to say that any individual modern Asian artist who came (to Paris) influenced French art,' Scott said. 'But was there an Asian impact, in general, on French art? Absolutely.' For France's more established Asian artists, life often revolved around the multicultural Montparnasse district, home of the so-called School of Paris. They shopped for supplies in the neighborhood's art stores and networked in its bohemian cafes. It was here that Sanyu refined his observational skills by attending open life drawing sessions at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière (which, to this day, welcomes the public to its walk-in life drawing classes for a modest fee). Foujita, meanwhile, was a prominent figure in the Montparnasse scene and a friend of the celebrated Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani, among others. The community there comprised 'people of over 50 nationalities, including those from countries so obscure their names are barely known,' Foujita wrote in 1936. 'It is no wonder this environment fosters unconventional ideas and creativity.' There was a commercial imperative, too: Showing at the district's commercial galleries and salons could help artists sell work or meet potential buyers. A local market for their art existed, and some were 'very financially successful' at the time, Scott said, adding: 'But Paris was a crowded market for attention. Even if you got a commercial show, it didn't necessarily mean that you could make money.' Forging a social circle like Foujita's was a 'key factor' determining their success, said Scott. 'Some (Asian) artists had a very good network of connections in Paris that could support them — people they knew, or art critics who would champion their work.' Yet, solo exhibitions and patronage were out of reach for the vast majority of migrant artists. In recognition of this, a section of the Singapore exhibition is dedicated to the artisans who worked in France's decorative arts workshops, playing an important — but largely anonymous — role in the Art Deco movement. An estimated one-quarter of Indochinese workers living in Paris were lacquerers, and a selection of their jewelry and objects d'art are displayed as testament to this uncredited role. The exhibition ends — like some of the international artists' time in France — with World War II. Those who returned home (or were drafted by their countries) often faced difficulties returning. Among them was Foujita, whose place in art history is complicated by his role in Japan's war effort: He dedicated his wartime practice to glorifying the efforts and bravery of the Imperial Army, severely hampering his reputation upon his return to France in 1950. The reputation of Paris changed, too. Although promising Asian creatives continued to arrive in the post-war period (among them were Wu Guanzhong and the abstract painter Zao Wou-ki, now two of the art market's biggest-selling names), the city was no longer the epicenter of the art world. New York was increasingly the destination of choice for budding young migrants, but the industry was also, the exhibition argues, becoming more fragmented, a precursor to today. 'New sites and hubs gained in significance with the energy of decolonization, asserting their independence and cultural identity,' the exhibition notes read. 'The post-war period marked the beginnings of a less hierarchical global art world.' 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' is showing at National Gallery Singapore until Aug. 17, 2025.
CNN
02-06-2025
- Politics
- CNN
Asian painters were ‘othered' in Paris a century ago. Now, the art world is taking note
Before the ravages of World War II, Paris was the center of the art world. The city's salons, schools and cafes attracted painters from around the globe, with Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Piet Mondrian and Salvador Dalí among the many émigrés gravitating to France's capital during the 1920s and '30s. Artists arriving from Asia, however, faced a very different set of expectations than their European counterparts. Paris may have been a melting pot of foreign cultures (by the standards of the day, at least), but it was also the heart of a colonial empire with a fascination for all things exotic. 'It seems that oil is a medium that is too heavy for their hands,' French art critic Henri Lormian wrote dismissively of the Vietnamese painters on show at a modern art exhibition in Paris in 1933. Instead, they were 'habituated to light strokes of the brush,' he argued, adding: 'It is the memories of the arts of the Far East which seduce, much more than a laboriously acquired Western technique.' In other words, their art was not 'Asian' enough, nor their attempts to embrace European art good enough, for his liking. Amid marginalization and disinterest, a generation of little-known artists from Japan, China, French Indochina and elsewhere in Asia nonetheless made their mark on Paris in the interwar period. Many were compelled to balance the influence of their cosmopolitan surroundings with the exoticized tastes of potential customers. Now, a century later, some of the era's pioneers — aided by Asian collectors' growing purchasing power — are belatedly earning the kind of recognition bestowed on their Western contemporaries. Take Le Pho, a Vietnamese artist whom the critic Lormian had once disparaged over a nude painting he deemed 'too occidental' — too Western. His paintings now fetch sums exceeding the million-dollar threshold, making him one of Southeast Asia's most bankable names. His 'La famille dans le jardin,' a leisurely scene evoking French Impressionism but delicately painted on silk, sold for 18.6 million Hong Kong dollars ($2.3 million) in 2023, an auction record for his work. Then there's Sanyu, a painter whose signature nudes — their flat perspective and flowing calligraphic lines informed as much by his Chinese art education as French modernism — now attract astronomical sums. He achieved little commercial success after moving to Paris from his native Sichuan in 1921 and died in poverty four decades later. Today, however, he is hailed as the 'Chinese Matisse,' with the 2020 sale of a rare group portrait, 'Quatre Nus,' for 258 million Hong Kong dollars ($33 million) confirming his status as one of contemporary art's most coveted names. The experience of Asian artists in Europe is also attracting renewed academic interest thanks, in part, to a new exhibition at Singapore's National Gallery. Almost 10 years in the making, 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' brings together more than 200 works from the period, many on loan from French institutions and private Asian collections. Le Pho and Sanyu feature prominently, as do Japanese artist Tsuguharu Foujita and two of Singapore's best-known painters, Liu Kang and Georgette Chen. The show spotlights how they grappled with their identities through searching self-portraits, landscapes depicting their adopted homeland and street scenes showing Paris through outsiders' eyes. References to major Western art movements like Cubism and Surrealism are meanwhile limited, eschewing the conventional lens through which the era is usually viewed. 'We thought, 'Well, if our story is about Asian artists in Paris, we should map their concerns, not try to map the concerns of Eurocentric art history onto them,'' the exhibition's lead curator Phoebe Scott told CNN at the preview, adding: 'Otherwise, we're just reiterating the significance of Paris without giving something new from our region.' The artists' dual identities are often expressed through the combination of Eastern and Western techniques. Foujita's 'Self-Portrait with Cat,' which depicts the artist surrounded by paint brushes and supplies in his studio, nods both to European and Japanese traditions, its fine lines informed by 'sumi-e' ink paintings. Elsewhere, works present various Asian sensibilities, from compositions evoking ancestral portraits to the use of unusually thin canvases reminiscent of paper or silk. Other paintings demonstrate the artists overlooked mastery of styles like Impressionism. A selection of Chen's rural landscapes, produced on a trip to Provence, ooze with the warmth of Paul Cézanne; Japanese painter Itakura Kanae's striking portrait of his wife, 'Woman in Red Dress,' reflects the classical tendencies of 'rappel à l'ordre' (or 'Return to Order'), a French movement that responded to the upheavals of World War I by rejecting the avant-garde. As well as absorbing influences, Asian artists in turn shaped European art, said Scott. The Paris scene had a 'hybridizing aesthetic,' she added, citing the influence of African art on Picasso's oeuvre as an example. And the presence of Asian painters added to the cultural mix, tapping into the longstanding interest in orientalist aesthetics evident in the 'Japonisme' of the late 19th century, when a fervor for Japanese art, furniture and artifacts swept Europe. 'It's difficult to say that any individual modern Asian artist who came (to Paris) influenced French art,' Scott said. 'But was there an Asian impact, in general, on French art? Absolutely.' For France's more established Asian artists, life often revolved around the multicultural Montparnasse district, home of the so-called School of Paris. They shopped for supplies in the neighborhood's art stores and networked in its bohemian cafes. It was here that Sanyu refined his observational skills by attending open life drawing sessions at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière (which, to this day, welcomes the public to its walk-in life drawing classes for a modest fee). Foujita, meanwhile, was a prominent figure in the Montparnasse scene and a friend of the celebrated Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani, among others. The community there comprised 'people of over 50 nationalities, including those from countries so obscure their names are barely known,' Foujita wrote in 1936. 'It is no wonder this environment fosters unconventional ideas and creativity.' There was a commercial imperative, too: Showing at the district's commercial galleries and salons could help artists sell work or meet potential buyers. A local market for their art existed, and some were 'very financially successful' at the time, Scott said, adding: 'But Paris was a crowded market for attention. Even if you got a commercial show, it didn't necessarily mean that you could make money.' Forging a social circle like Foujita's was a 'key factor' determining their success, said Scott. 'Some (Asian) artists had a very good network of connections in Paris that could support them — people they knew, or art critics who would champion their work.' Yet, solo exhibitions and patronage were out of reach for the vast majority of migrant artists. In recognition of this, a section of the Singapore exhibition is dedicated to the artisans who worked in France's decorative arts workshops, playing an important — but largely anonymous — role in the Art Deco movement. An estimated one-quarter of Indochinese workers living in Paris were lacquerers, and a selection of their jewelry and objects d'art are displayed as testament to this uncredited role. The exhibition ends — like some of the international artists' time in France — with World War II. Those who returned home (or were drafted by their countries) often faced difficulties returning. Among them was Foujita, whose place in art history is complicated by his role in Japan's war effort: He dedicated his wartime practice to glorifying the efforts and bravery of the Imperial Army, severely hampering his reputation upon his return to France in 1950. The reputation of Paris changed, too. Although promising Asian creatives continued to arrive in the post-war period (among them were Wu Guanzhong and the abstract painter Zao Wou-ki, now two of the art market's biggest-selling names), the city was no longer the epicenter of the art world. New York was increasingly the destination of choice for budding young migrants, but the industry was also, the exhibition argues, becoming more fragmented, a precursor to today. 'New sites and hubs gained in significance with the energy of decolonization, asserting their independence and cultural identity,' the exhibition notes read. 'The post-war period marked the beginnings of a less hierarchical global art world.' 'City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s' is showing at National Gallery Singapore until Aug. 17, 2025.
